


Gratuitous Violence

by miss_nettles_wife



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Buried Alive, Death, Gen, Other, Torture, character death (major)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_nettles_wife/pseuds/miss_nettles_wife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of Sherlock Holmes, John decides that Anderson is to be punished for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gratuitous Violence

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually written by someone who loves Anderson very much. This is not to hate him. I love him. But I also love hurting him. But for real though, this fic has so much fucking violence in it. And the ending is lame also.

'Anderson screamed as loudly as he could, "Somebody, help me! Help me, Please!" But he knew it was no use, John would have soundproofed the entire place. He pulled on the chain that was secured around his neck, like he was an animal. Less than an animal. He heard footseteps outside, John was back. He must have heard Anderson screaming. He'd told him to be quiet, so he knew something back as about to go down. John threw open the door, keeping the video camera in his hand. That was new.  
"I'm making a little video, Anderson. For Lestrade. You think he'll like this? His scientist breaking down, doing what I say?" he mocked, setting a bowl of something watery in front on him. Anderson stared at it. John pushed it forward with his food. "Hand and knees, Anderson. " John said, Anderson stepped away, shaking his head. This was something out of a horror movie. John stepped into the cell,and set the camera down. He grabbed Anderson by the neck and shoulder joint, and pressed until his nails dug into his bare flesh, and he fell forward. He caught himself just in time. John dragged him forward by the chain. Anderson struggled on, or risk choking to death by the heavy metal collar. If it cut into him, he could get tetanus or something equally awful. John set the bowl infront of him again, and held the video camera up. "Eat." He said, as Anderson glanced at his hands. "Not with your hands, idiot. With your mouth." He said, "Debase yourself for the camera, sweetie. I always knew you would." Anderson kept staring at him. "Alright, fine. I'll give you an incentive. If you do, I'll let you have this teddy bear, and I will return one article of clothing. If you don't. I'll make you. With my foot. " Anderson looked at him with seething eyes, and leant forward and attempt to eat the cold, sloppy, runny contents, all the while glaring at him. When he tried to stop, John put his foot on the back of Anderson's head, and forced him back down, "Eat it, bitch." He said, as Anderson's arms scrapped at the ground, and he tried to eat or scream, maybe both. John finally let the man, who was on the verge of passing out, up. He left, leaving Anderson to sit and choke slightly, and then vomit. John looked at him in distaste. "Disgusting little bitch." he said, in a falsely comforting voice. Anderson didn't move. John placed the teddy bear in his lap. "There you go." He said, glancing at the pool of vomit. "Sleep well." He murmured, and once again, left Anderson in pitch black again. 

Sherlock Holmes has been dead for about seven months. And for real, this time. The third case he worked since his triumphant ‘return’. But he was in far, far too deep. And John really should have known better, to have let him out at night on his own. But Mary had said it would be fine, he would be. Sadly, she was wrong. So wrong. The next, and last time John, Anderson, Sally and everyone else had been when he was dying. Tied to a chair, and a video feed sent right to the yard. Of course, Forensics had to find him, had to save him. Anderson couldn’t. He wasn’t fast enough. The feed was hidden far too well it was all they could do to watch. But that wasn’t good enough. Hadn’t John suffered enough, he thinks, why did the universe keep hurting him. But he then realized something. Why should he suffer, when he had a scapegoat. Why should he suffer, when the real murderer, the one who couldn’t save him was still fine? The universe did care for him after all, because Dr. Anderson had been dropped right into his lap. And who would turn down their chance at revenge? 

Anderson doesn’t understand the stuffed bear. He doesn’t react as John sets it in his lap. He just sits in cold silence. He feels a little hurt inside. He wants Sally. He wants to go home. He doesn’t scream anymore. He’s too tired to scream. He slowly crawled to the other side of the room, ignoring the scrape of the gravel against his bare knees, and places himself sideways on the ground. He brings the bear to his chest. It is mildly comforting, in a way, he thinks, as he tried to sleep. But it’s hard to sleep, when no pillow or blankets.Hadn’t John promised the return of some of his clothes, he thinks, keeping his eyes shut. He doesn't think too much about it. John was humiliating him, why did he have any reason to keep any promise? The bear was probably part of it, wasn’t it? He cried himself into oblivion. The sleep is not restful. 

He wakes up when John is adjusting the collar around his neck. What is he doing? He thinks, as he is hoisted to his arms and knees. He also feels Joh attach something, a larger collar? Around his waist. John smiled at him, and sets a large mirror in front of him. He is confused. His collar now has a shorter chain, so what? Watson then fits a spike underneath his chin. It’s only just not sticking him. “Keep your head up.” John said, in a mocking tone. He taps Anderson’s left hip. “Up.” He orders. Anderson is downright terrified now. There is a sound of metal on metal. He looking in the mirror. The blade was about to spike him in the dick. He took a shuddering breath. John stroked his hair. “Oh Anderson.” He said softly. “I had another one planned, to go right into your navel.” He said, “But you have an outie. I’m so disappointed.” He said softly. When Anderson didn’t reply, John just sighed. “Alright, be that way. Just be thankful I didn’t decide to make it an innie.” He taunted. He then sat the bear in front of the mirror so Anderson couldn't properly see what was going on. Anderson then heard the click of a lighter, and he panicked again. What was he doing with that lighter?  
Then, he felt a long slice on his back. He screamed. There were many slices, he lost count. He felt blood dribbling down his side and he had to keep his body up or risk death. He knew John wouldn’t mind if he died. Would anyone mind if he died? Somehow, he doesn’t think anyone would. When the cuts stop, Anderson takes a huge shuddering breath. Will it all end now? it does not. He feels like John is carving a small circle out of his back.He screamed louder. When it finally stopped, John removed the spikes, and ANderson all but collapsed onto the hard mildly sticky ground. John wasn’t done yet. He unfastened Anderson’s collar, leaving his hips tied down, and rolled him onto his back. When he was in the incredibly uncomfortable ‘bridge’ position, John set the spikes back in, and Anderson found his knees were already shaking, but now the spikes were going to go into the back of his head, and his lower back. He wasn’t ready, he didn’t want to die. John heated the knife again, and Anderson was forced to watch as he carved letters into his stomach. He screamed again, but he had to be so much more careful. He screamed for different reasons when he realized the words said  
‘I killed Sherlock Holmes’ 

Anderson tries to say something, but John stops him, by sticking the knife into his shoulder. Left, to be exact. Anderson screamed, and John patiently waited for him to finish. “Now you stop that.” John said softly. “No talking.” He said, “I might leave you here all night.” He said, “Until your arms give out.” He said softly. “And you impale yourself, right through the back of your head, and out of your fucking nose.” he said, “Or maybe your legs will give, and you will break your lower back, and bleed to death.” he said softly. Anderson’s shaking arms shift slightly, and John can’t help but chuckle. “No…” He said softly, “I think I want to hold you for a little longer before you join Sally.” He said. Anderson turned his head to look at him alarmed. John chuckled. “Oh yes, Sally Donovan put up a fight.” He said, “Not a nice and complicit little bitch like you.” He said. “She didn’t do anything I asked. And I had to kill her. But it’s alright, Anderson.” He said, “She suffered a lot less than you will.” he said, getting to his feet. He slowly removed the spikes, and returned Anderson to his front. He removed none of the chains. “Sleep well.” He taunted softly. 

Anderson reached his arms forward to take the bear into his arms. His hips hurt. His shoulders ached. He was sore all over. The bear provided him with little warmth, and it was cold out. He wondered if he would freeze to death. Perhaps that would be better, he thinks, better than this, he feels the scabs that had begun to form over the deep slices separate as he shifted slightly. He cries, and he sobs and he’s miserable. He does eventually fall asleep, but he wakes up every few minutes in pain. 

The next morning, John woke him with a bucket of water and ice cubes. It chills him to the bone. The bear is also wet. John sets a bowl in front of him again, and released his hips. He twists the collar so it is facing him, and swaps it out while he uses one foot to keep Anderson’s face pressed into the bowl. Anderson feels like he may vomit again. John’s reply is to slap a piece duct tape over his mouth. He drags Anderson by the chain out of the cell into a different room. He chains the man to the wall and rips the duct tape off. Anderson screamed. John then proceeded fits a dental gag into his mouth, holding it open. Once he was convinced it would hold, John pulled him down, and once again shortened the length of chain attached to the collar, and put rubber gloves on his hands. He carefully reached into Anderson’s mouth, and pulled at his tongue. Anderson then heard a ripping noise, and went crosseyed as he tried to focus on the needle John was holding in front of his face. John held Anderson’s tongue to the board, and pressed the needle though with a lot of force. With Anderson now pinned to the board, he fastened his wrists into a set of metal holders. They are too tight. John takes a hold of the thin palm in his hand and takes another needle. He carefully presses it down underneath his finger nails. He looks back at Anderson,as tears poured down Anderson’s face as he did his best not to cry, knowing it would only hurt more if he moved. John went back to pressing the thinner needles under Anderson’s nails. He adjusts the previously unseen camera to Anderson’s face as the blood and snot mingle. John finishes Anderson’s hands, and stands back to admire his work. Very nice, he thinks, as he opened more needles, and this time, he presses them though the outside of Anderson’s tongue. 

John admires it for a while. Saliva dribbles out of Anderson’s mouth and onto the board. Blood is sticky under his fingers. John takes now to talk. “What do you think Greg thinks of you?” He asked, “When he’ll see this? How will you change in his eyes, he already doesn’t like you, and now you’ve killed Sherlock Holmes. And it’s your fault that Sally is no longer with us. Her relations with you ended her life. “ He said, “How will Greg feel, when he watches you cry like the weak soul you are.” Anderson whimpered softly. Why him? He had done his best to save Sherlock, his whole team had. Why was he the scape goat, he wondered. He could have cried in relief as John slowly pulled the pins out of his fingers, and then his tongue John then held up a piercing needle. . He threaded a piece of wire through it, and proceed to pierce Anderson’s septum just below the sweet spot. Anderson started crying again, and as he sobbed, blood splashed out of his still open mouth and onto the board. John had no tolerance for this. He pulled Anderson’s head back, and attached his nose to an over hanging hook in the roof. The thing it hung off looked like a hanging power plug, only covered in rusted hooks. Once Anderson was looking up, John refastened the metal collar around his hips so he was forced to stay kneeling. He towered over his helpless victim, and carefully place a file on his cheek bone. “It’s lucky Sally’s dead.” He commented, picking it up. He left the room and returned a few minutes later with a barrel. He popped it open, and pulled out the corpse. It was rotting, covered with maggots and partially decomposed. It made Anderson gag twice. He couldn’t look at her, but he just knew it was her. He heard a clank of gears as Sally’s body was hoisted up. Sally is now hanging from the roof, the video camera is tied to her maggot covered hand. Her eyes are rolled back into her head. She is dead. He is looking at her. As if that wasn’t enough, Sally’s corpse was at the stage of decomposition where the body is bloating. He is hit in the forehead with a drop of corpse juice. He gags again. John smiled, and walked around. He replaced the file on Anderson’s cheekbone, and begins to saw away at it while Sally’s corpse watches on. Anderson screams for her to help him, though the words don’t make it out, and he is delusional with pain. 

Anderson is unaware of when he passes out, but he waked up in a puddle of blood and vomit. In his hair, and in his eyes. Over the night, the large wounds had scabbed over. He notes that his nose is free, with minimal tearing, and that his hips are chained down. He hears thumps, and looks up. Perhaps it’s the police? Perhaps they have come to save him. He reached out with one hand for the bear. He had thought it was silly, and he knew now that it was simply just another method of humiliating him. But he didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to go home. The bear is musty smelling, and a bit damp to the touch, but he pressed his face into it’s stomach anyway. He had been so sure it was the police, he could have sworn that he could hear Lestrade. Perhaps he’s dreaming it. Perhaps he’s finally dying. His brain takes a while, but he pieces together that he must be under John’s home. And he must have Lestrade over. They are friends in mourning. It makes sense. Unless Lestrade is in on it. He doesn’t think so. He removed his face from the bear, and lets out a scream that feels like it’s pulling the skin out of his throat in small strips. “Help me!” He screamed. “Please help me!” But to no avail. The foot steps are still there, and then they get louder. In his delirious mind, Anderson thinks that Lestrade must have heard him. “Please Greg!” He shouted, using his first name to get his attention. The voice upstairs pauses. He perks up. The footsteps get louder. “Greg!” He screamed, pulling the bear against him. “Greg!” He screams again, pulling himself into a ball. “Please!” He screams one more time. The door opened, and Anderson looked up, desperately, Greg, please be Greg, take him home, save him from all this. It’s not Greg. It’s John. John grabs him from the ground, and attaches a pair of headphones over his ears. Anderson tried to move away, but John reached down and pulled the bear away. Anderson grabbed for it. John tossed it away into the darkness. He glared at Anderson, who was now looking up at him with complete terror in his eyes. John took off the chain on the collar, and replaced it with a longer chain. He carried Anderson to the dark corner, forcing him to walk behind on his hands and knees. He looks at Anderson, who is no looking rather desperately for his bear. John looked to the middle of the room where the previous collar for his hips was lying, and debated putting that on as well, but decided against it.  
He then picked up his headphones, and pulled them onto Anderson’s head.  
“Should have done this before, bitch.” He said, “But I thought you were capable of basic self control.” Anderson decided to give it his best.  
“Greg please save me!” He screamed. John shook his head and slapped a piece of duct tape over his mouth. Anderson continued to look terrified, as John tied the headphones to his head with the tape, but didn’t put any on his eyes. Satisfied Anderson couldn’t escape, John plugged the headphones into a MP3 player, that filled Anderson’s mind with white noise. Anderson tried to pull them off his head in shock, but couldn’t. John chuckled, and retrieved the teddy bear for him. He set it in Anderson’s lap, and went back upstairs to finish his dinner. 

He doesn’t come to see Anderson until the next day, where he realized that keeping him here was far too risky. He could just kill the man, he thinks, but then he remembered what happened to Sherlock because of Anderson. It will not do for him to have a slow, kind death. John enters the room. Anderson is curled over in a small ball sobbing while clutching the bear to his chest. He is a sorry sight, John thinks, undoing the tape around his head. Anderson whimpers just softly, and continues to twist away from him. He doesn’t want to be hurt he wants to go home now. John removes the headphones, and strokes a hand though Anderson’s hair. It is greasy. He helps Anderson into some pants, and undoes the collar. Anderson puts up no resistance. He doesn’t want to hurt. John lets Anderson take the bear with him. Anderson is thankful for the bear. They walk down a hall to a large box. It’s wooden, Anderson thinks it looks like a fruit box, but more solid. “Climb in here, and I’ll deliver you back to Greg, Bitch. Since you wanted him so badly last night.” Anderson nods, and brings the bear lose again. John shifts off the lid, and it all clicks into place for Anderson. Sally’s bloated and decomposing corpse is sitting in the box. Anderson tried to get away, but he’s too weak and he hurts all over. Anderson and the bear are thrown in by John. He still screams, he wants to live. He wants to live.

John lugs the box out into the park by his house, and starts to dig a hole to bury Anderson. He recorded it, to enjoy later. “Please John, let me live!’ Anderson said, from inside the barrel, “Let me live, please, I’ll do anything you want.” He said, “Please, I’ll never cry out, or scream for help, please John.” He sobbed, “I’ll do anything you want, I’ll be anything you want.” He said, knocking his fists against the crate, “Please John, I’ll stay in the cell and I’ll always eat when you tell me, I can be good John.” he said, “I can, I promise! I’ll be so good.” he sobbed. “And I won’t ever scream, I promise, I promise John.’ He sobbed, and kept banging against the walls of his crate. The smell of the rotting corpse is over powering, and it makes him want to gag. “Please let me live.” He said, trying to move away from Sally’s corpse, and closer to the freedom and the fresh air. “Can you hear me?” He asked, “I can hear you.” He said softly, “I know you can hear me John…” Anderson whispered, “Please let me live.” He sobbed, pulling the bear close to him, “You can take the bear John, please let me live.” He sobbed, “Please John, let me live.” He cried, “I want to be alive. I’ll do anything. Please I-” He was cut off by the crate shifting. “John! No!” He screamed, “Help me! Please someone help me!” He cried out, trying to pull away. trying to get the crate to move away. “No!” He screamed as he tumbled down. “No!” 

It’s dark. That’s all Anderson can think as he looks at the splintered wood above his head. He can’t see. But he feels until he finds Sally, and he carefully undoes her shirt, and wrapped it around his palm. He bashed the top until it splintered. He then moved onto his back and used his legs to kick it open the rest of the way. He tried to move out of the way as wet dirt and mud fell into the hole. He climbed his way out, and stumbled to his feet. He is lost. He stumbled in the direction he vaguely recalled coming from, until he sees a door. It leads to a cellar. He keeps his bear close. As he stumbled though, he sees an axe. A fire axe, probably. He picked it up, and continued down the hall. He saw a hallway up. He stepped through. 

Mary screams. John shouts. Anderson does as well. “Surprise,Bitch!” He shouts at John, as the axe collides with his his forehead. He falls to the ground. “I-” another swing of the axe, “Bet-” he strikes again, “You-” And again, “Thought you’d-” He swings again in the face “Seen-” Another hit to the face, “The last-” And one last blow, “Of me.” He steps back to the look at his mutilated dead body. He looks at Mary. “Get me your phone.” He said, as he stumbled down onto the couch, pulling the bear close. “And find your video camera.” The woman is afraid, and she goes at Anderson with a knife. It goes into his shoulder, but he doesn’t care. It hardly hurts at all. Mary is terrified beyond all measure know, and gets him the phone. Anderson pulls the knife out, and types in Lestrade’s mobile number. He will be going home soon, he thinks, looking over at John Watson’s lifeless body. He thinks about Sally, alone in the box. He can’t help but smile shakily when Lestrade picks up. He will be home soon.


End file.
